


The Wayward One

by glorious_clio



Series: First Blush (Pre-Series stories) [5]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006), robin hood - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-24
Updated: 2012-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:14:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3663486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_clio/pseuds/glorious_clio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marian stays behind after Robin abruptly breaks their engagement and goes off to the Holy Land.  What happens to those left behind?  This is not a romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Wayward One playlist](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/107028) by glorious_clio. 



_Every time I think of you_  
_I always catch my breath_  
_And I'm still standing here_  
_And you're miles away_  
_And I'm wondering why you left_  
_And there's a storm that's raging_  
_Through my frozen heart tonight_

-

Marian had taken to staring out windows.

She would never admit to this, of course, in the same vein that she hated to admit to weaknesses. And she would consider window-gazing a weakness, because she could not tell you  _who_  or  _what_  or  _why_  she was looking in the first place. But people whispered about her, all the time, causing Marian to keep herself cooped up in her house in Knighton, so as not to hear them. (But she could not keep herself from  _looking_ ).

She was too angry for dreaming at windows, too angry to fantasize about what  _might_  have been. And she was  _furious_.

But Marian was also very, very tired (possibly because being  _furious_ is exhausting work), and she might as well be wearing black for her soon-to-be-dead ex-fiance. So window watching it must be.

It was 1189, England had a new King, and that new King Richard, with the Heart of a Lion, has led them all to war, and taken his precious Captain of the Guards, young Robin of Locksley, with him. Marian's soon-to-be-dead ex-fiance. Is there a word for that? Possibly in one of the many languages that Robin knew.

And if he did not perish in the endless sands of the Holy Land, Marian might well kill him herself. 


	2. The Best Mirror is an Old Friend

_I hear your name, in certain circles_   
_And it always makes me smile_   
_I spend my time, thinking about you_   
_And it's almost driving me wild_   
_And there's a heart that's breaking_   
_Down this long distance line tonight_

-

"Marian, dear girl, you know a watched pot never boils," Sara, the cook, called out to where Marian was pacing near the door. Kind, jolly Sara, whom Marian took to calling "Sweet Sara" for her gentleness (and her flaky, delicious desserts). Sara had been looking out for Marian, and comforting her, as her nurse might have done (if Sir Edward had not dismissed the nurse, Etheldred, before Marian's wedding, that never, of course, took place).

"I am not watching pots," sixteen year old Marian called back. "Aldith will come when she is ready, and when she does, I wish to be here, waiting!"

Marian could hear Sara chuckling from the kitchen. It was nice with so few people for company. Father was in Nottingham, and, with Marian so recently jilted and taken to weeping, was content to leave her in Knighton in the protection of Sara the cook and John the ostler. Now Aldith was coming to add to her numbers. Aldith's father, Sir Richard of the Lea, was an old, proud Saxon knight who had served with Marian's father in the company of Henry II, the new King's dead father. Aldith was easily Marian's closest friend, distance notwithstanding. Marian did not easily make friends with other girls; for one thing, they rarely shared the same interests. Marian preferred stories of valor, politics, and fighting practice to embroidery and talking about husbands. Aldith was similar in that; the two grew up together, listening to their fathers talk drunkenly of days of old, of battles and skirmishes long forgotten by everyone else. And Aldith's mother, lady Diot, was an adoptive mother to Marian. She smoothed Marian's hair and taught her to be a housewife; spinning, medicines, food preservation an efficient running of the household (Marian had taken up many of these tasks at Knighton Hall).

With Robin and Sir Richard gone to Palestine, both girls were pining for their lost ones. So Marian had convinced Sir Edward to agree to a visit by Aldith.

The sound of horse hooves interrupted her ponderings.

"She is here!" Marian shouted to Sara before dashing outside.

Indeed it was Aldith, escorted by her mother and a young page that they had in their keeping, Noll.

"Greetings, Maid Marian!" called lady Diot from her saddle.

In an instant, Marian was out the door. John the ostler was already steadying lady Diot's horse, allowing her to dismount. For her part, Aldith had launched out of her saddle and into Marian's embrace.

"Girls, you know that is not proper etiquette," lady Diot counseled gently. She had a small smile in her face, so Marian knew that she had the lady's forgiveness without even having to ask it. Lady Diot should have been allowed to keep more of her children, Marian thought. So many were miscarried, or died in infancy. Aldith was the only one strong enough to live.

"Welcome, lady Diot, and Aldith. Might I offer you and your page some refreshment?" Marian asked in her sweetest housewife voice.

"Just some ale, for the boy and I," asked lady Diot. "We must be on our way as quickly as we have come."

"Of course," said Marian.

"Might I be of assistance?" Aldith offered.

"You might," Marian teased. She led her guests into her home and offered lady Diot a place to sit before the two girls set off to the kitchen, bringing out two mugs of ale for her friend's mother and the page, Noll.

They made light conversation, sitting there as friends. Lady Diot was kind and sweet, Noll was witty for one so young, but Marian noticed that everyone avoided any mention of Robin or Sir Richard, or anyone who might be on crusade. For this, Marian was grateful.

Finally, lady Diot made their excuses, and she and Noll left Marian and Aldith to their own devices.

Aldith wasted no time. "Let us go out to the meadow and pick the early autumn flowers. We have much to discuss."

They pulled on their cloaks, Marian switched her house slippers for her boots, and calling to Sara, they left, slamming the door behind them.

Aldith clasped Marian's hand and the two left Knighton behind.

They began picking flowers and making long chains of them, a crown for each, necklaces, bracelets, Marian made a ring that she put on her right hand. Aldith saw it and blushed.

"Out with it," Marian sighed.

"With what?"

"Your observations. On me, and how I am coping without Robin."

Aldith rolled her eyes. "You were often without Robin growing up. He was training to be a knight. The only differences I detect this time are less jealousy and more anger."

Marian frowned at this. It was true. Before, she would long to go with him, to London or Aquitaine, or where-ever he was going this season. But she had no desire to go to the Holy Land.

"I know I should not be so angry at him, he says, he  _believes_  that he is doing the work of the Lord. Everyone thinks that the crusades are a wonderful and just idea. Even your father. I am sorry for you, too, Aldith. It must be so hard without your father. I know I miss him."

Aldith nodded. "It is hard, especially because he is so old. Mother and I fear... And besides that, it seems that mother now has to arrange my marriage by herself."

"What? When, and to whom?"

Aldith gave Marian a nervous smile. "A good man, Sir David of Doncaster. His father is a wealthy landlord."

"And Sir David is?"

"He is a tall man, with long dark hair, dark eyes, his skin is mostly fair with a few spots. He is six years older than me, so we are at least close in age. He is kind to children and respectful to my father and to me, and humble before everyone else, even serving men and women."

Marian let out a low whistle. She lay down in the grass and watched the clouds. Aldith laid down next to her and linked their arms together.

"When do you marry?"

"Next spring. Mother wants me home as long as possible, and they are still working out the dowry and bride price. I have little say in any of this, but Sir David does not seem like a bad match."

"But not a love match?"

"Marian, I might grow to love him. Love matches are unusual. Not everyone is Robin of Locksley."

"Pray do not bring him into this," Marian whispered. "I am reeling, my best friend, married and far away- where is Doncaster, exactly?"

"It is nearer to Lincoln than Nottingham," Aldith said sadly. "I have not yet been there, but Sir David told me."

"So I shall see you even less, I fear," Marian noted.

"I can write, we can write. Oh, Marian, you are my dearest friend. I am closer to you than my own mother."

"You are my sister," Marian agreed. She meant that; Marian looked up to lady Diot like she was a mother to them both. Gentle lady Diot.

They sighed in unison, then giggled.

"What has your mother told you about... the wedding night?"

"Nothing yet," said Aldith, blushing. "What do you know of it?"

"Only what Etheldred told me on her last day," Marian said. She missed her old nurse, who was strict, who loved Marian, who taught her the paternoster and her  _Aves_  and who put bread in Marian's pockets to keep her safe from the faeries. "That it is like horses in the stall at first, it can be rough. But if one's lover is kind, it becomes... better."

"Meaning?"

"I could not say. And it seems you will discover it first."

"I will write and say," Aldith promised. "How it begins, and how it continues."

"That would be a scandalous letter, should it be discovered."

"I do not care," Aldith told her. "You would have done the same for me."

"Yes," agreed Marian. And she would have. Marian and Aldith would still be near neighbors. She would have caught her alone. To tell her. To prepare her.

Oh, but she could kill Robin in that moment, not only for herself, but for Aldith and Aldith's trepidation.

"Have you... kissed him?" Marian asked.

"Only once."

"And?"

"It was not what I was expecting. He tasted of ale, and it was very hurried. I fear I bit down on his lip too hard."

Marian nodded. "It is not all stars and poetry, kissing."

"Was Robin a good kisser?"

"I daresay he  _is_  still a good kisser," Marian corrected.

"Right. Sorry."

Marian sighed (again), and cursed him (again) for leaving. She missed his lips.

After a few more moments of aimless conversation, the two friends stood up and made their way back to Knighton for dinner.

Aldith stayed with Marian for a week. They giggled and plotted and talked unceasingly through their chores, their embroidery, and their exploits in Sherwood. Sara left them to it, turning a blind eye when the young ladies took their bows into the woods (knowing any kills would benefit her cooking pot). Their sword play was more secretive; they often snuck out in the dead of night to do that, when Sara and John were sound asleep.

At the end of the week, Marian hated to say goodbye. But it was time to bring the harvests in; they were both needed on their respective manners. Sir Edward came home to help with Knighton villages harvest. Marian was also expected to be in the fields.

The harvest was brought in, thrashed, and made ready for winter. Marian was caught up in a flurry of activity, which did not allow for a relapse into her depression. She tried to remain busy, so as not to dwell on her wayward (ex) lover. She cleaned the manor from attic to cellar, setting every thing to order.  _Everything_. She mended clothing, bringing out warmer things for winter use. She brought out all of her father's ledgers (from the village and from Nottingham) and made sure all the columns of numbers added up correctly, made sure they were perfectly balanced. She was good at mathematics. Not even Robin could add up numbers as quickly or as accurately as she could. He had been better at languages than her, but she chalked that up to being more traveled than her. Marian knew Latin and French; Robin knew those and Greek and a bit of German.  _He was probably picking up Arabic as she balanced her father's ledgers_ , she could not keep from thinking. Then quickly tried to think of something else.

Luckily, the Advent season was upon them, and she and her father were in Nottingham, where she was playing diplomatic host to Lords and Ladies from all over the Shire. She planned menus, poured wine, and kept querulous men from arguing over their cups. Quite enough to keep her occupied.

And there were other distractions. Aldith, for one.

The two were inseparable; Aldith often helped Marian in her duties, pouring wine and making sure the smaller children were entertained. They rode side by side during the season's hunts, and huddled together during the tournaments.

David of Doncaster was present for the holiday festivities. He was exactly as Aldith had described, kind hearted and handsome enough. Marian could not help but like him, and hoped her friend would be happy in her marriage.

Christmas Eve found Marian was settling into her bed, and just about to draw the curtains when there was a knock on the door.

"Who is there?" Marian called, feeling for a knife on her bedside table. There was nothing to really fear, but more than one drunk, amorous knight had found their way to her locked door.

"Me," said Lady Aldith.

Marian slid out of bed and into her slippers to open the door for her friend.

Aldith came in with two goblets of mulled wine and some goodies in a bag across her shoulder.

"Feel like a spread?"

"How are you still hungry after tonight's feast?" Marian marveled.

Aldith shrugged and made her way to the bed. Marian locked the door again and followed, leaving the curtains around the bed open so they could see by the light of the banked fire.

They settled in to their feast of leftovers that Aldith had taken from the kitchens.

"How do you like Sir David?" Aldith asked.

Marian smiled and squeezed her friend's hand. "He is as you said. Kind and humble. I think you will be happy."

Aldith smiled back at Marian. "He will be a wonderful father, I think."

"And you will be a good mother," Marian assured her.

"Are there any men here who catch  _your_  fancy?" Aldith asked seriously.

Marian nibbled on a honey-cake. "No. They are all so pompous and full of themselves."

"Oh, because Robin of Locksley was never full of himself."

"He is... self-righteous. Not nearly as tiresome."

"If you agreed with his convictions. Do you still... like Robin?" Aldith inquired carefully.

"Do not be ridiculous. You know I hate him," Marian insisted.

"Then you need to learn to hide it better," Aldith said simply.

"Oh, shut up," Marian replied, taking a large gulp of her mulled wine.

Aldith laughed.


	3. Feverish Jealousy

_I ain't missing you at all_   
_Since you've been gone, away_   
_I ain't missing you_   
_No matter, what I might say_

_There's a message, in the wires_   
_And I'm sending you this signal tonight_   
_You don't know, how desperate I've become_   
_And it looks like I'm losing this fight_

-

Marian remained in Nottingham after Twelfth Night. There was more to distract her there. She liked going to the Council of Nobles meetings, and preferred not to wade through the snow every other week to get there. She played chess every evening with her father (often to his disappointment when she bested him). Lent began and Marian observed all the Holy Days, and of course, made sure their supply of fish was well stocked (no other meat was allowed, and no sweets). Forty days was a long time.

Sometimes Aldith came with her mother to the Council of Nobles, and then Marian was filled in on the wedding arrangements. Marian swallowed her jealousy and her pride when she agreed to be one of Aldith's bridesmaids.

In her heart, she prayed for the jealousy and the pain and the anger to go away. Anything would be preferable to this hateful envy. It was not Aldith's fault, it was Robin's.

After the Easter season was over, Marian went straight to lady Diot to serve Aldith in the final days until her nuptials. She felt she had been run ragged by the fasting of Lent, the feasting of Easter, and now the final preparations for the wedding. She had not been home to Knighton in several months, and she was beginning to miss Sweet Sara and John (who was just an affectionate grump). But duty called, Marian answered, and she needed to be with her best friend, even if silences between them had become a bit awkward.

Aldith was in a tizzy. She was nervous over becoming someone's wife, but instead of articulating that, she was instead panicking over tiny, insignificant details. Lady Diot and Marian were simply trying to keep her from doing anything crazy. But rational conversation with Aldith would not be happening any time soon. Marian wondered if she would have reacted to her wedding in the same way.  _Surely not_ , she thought bitterly.

 

-

 

The wedding was beautiful.

For all of Aldith's nerves the night before, the weeks and months before, she looked calm and ethereal. Blond and plump, she looked like one of Sara's pretty pastries, good enough to consume, with a heavy coating of sugary lace over her best blue dress. Sir David of Doncaster trembled with joy (or a hidden fear of his own) through his vows at the door of the Lea's chapel, before sliding a ring on her finger and leading his bride into Mass.

Marian felt sick the whole time.

She was nearly feverish in her hidden jealousy. Never had she thought getting married  _first_ was important, but in a way, it was not that Aldith was marrying first, it was that Marian did not think she would ever get married. And in that realization, she felt as if a knife had stabbed her, just below the ribs.

She smiled through the vows, through the Mass, through the breakfast. She smiled through people's attempts at conversation. (It was especially strange, since most of these people would have been at her wedding, last year.) She wished she could have run away from these people like Robin had, so as never to face them again.

And then it occurred to her: this was not her wedding. If she escaped, no one would notice, except her father. Marian found him in the crowd; he was drinking himself into a stupor.

Marian slipped into the house, collected her cloak, and slid out the back, around the stables, and straight for Sherwood.

She ran into its leafy green embrace. As she pushed through the underbrush, the branches snapped back to hide her progress. In so doing, it tore at her red skirt, ruining her second best gown.

There were worse things.

Marian fought through and eventually came upon an old forester's trail. She knew it was there. She and Aldith often frequented the forest. More importantly, she knew how to get home.

She followed the path as it wound through the trees.

It had been nearly a year since Robin had left. Ten months, anyway. And the anger and the hurt were as fresh as if it had been yesterday. She hoped she was hiding it better, at Aldith's suggestion. But Marian knew that she had to make herself believe it before she could convince anyone else.

Away from the bridal party, she felt like she could breathe again. Sherwood had a calming effect on her. The forest helped quiet her mind, and today was no different. She breathed in the musty smell. Something was in the air... something...

Rain.

 _Damn,_  Marian thought. She was instantly drenched. She had hoped it would be something like  _Promise_ in the air. Still, rain on a wedding day was good fortune for the bride and groom, Marian remembered. Sighing, she turned back.

Coming back to the Lea's house, where she and her father were guests of Lady Diot's, Marian registered that she was shivering, he teeth clattering against each other. She could also feel the tendrils of a headache wrapping around her eyes.

She made her way up to the chamber she had been sharing with Aldith and a few other ladies in waiting, stripped of her wet things and got into dry, and crawled into a pained sleep.

 

-

 

It is hot. So hot. And she is so tired. So she is in the Holy Land. Only this place could be so unbearably, unquestioningly  _hot_.

If she is in the Holy Land, Robin must be here.

She looks, and it as if thinking of him has called him into being, here he is. He smiles at her in that way he has.

"Miss me?"

"No chance, Locksley," she says, the heat getting the better of her temper.

He does not look disappointed. He shrugs and wanders off. Suddenly there is a girl with him. She does not look familiar, or English, or even French. She has a dark mantle of hair that sweeps around her, and she is wearing long dancing skirts and bells about her ankles. All her veils are red. She dances for Robin. As she dances (and as Robin watches, enjoying the performance) the dancer peels off her veils, one by one. And, one by one, the veils dance with her.

Marian realizes too late that the veils become devils, and soon there are seven of them, dancing around Robin.

She pushes herself through them, all hairy and red with cloven hooves where their feet should be. They vanish as she touches them.

She takes Robin's right hand with her left.

She can feel him brushing his thumb over her ring finger, where a wedding band should be. She looks down to where their hands are joined. He turns her hand over so the palm faces up and traces her heartline once. Then his hand is gone. She stares at the lines in her palm (for how long? Moments? An Eternity? She cannot tell time, for she is so  _hot_. Time has no meaning here) and slowly and suddenly, there is a map on her hands. A map that makes no sense, she cannot read it.

She looks up; Robin is gone, but there are other things in her visions.

A nun, with rosary beads.

Sand, covered in blood.

A Catherine Wheel shattering.

Much is there! But he is clutching Robin's longbow, crying.

She sees herself in a wedding dress, and a man in black stroking her collarbones.

She looks up and sees arrows flying. The arrows turn into birds.

They are seagulls, and suddenly she is at the sea.

It is not as hot here, there is a cool mist touching her brow.

She wants to linger here. It is cooler, more comfortable. Wet, not dry.

But now, now it is too cold.

Everything is frozen.

Her eyes are covered in frost and Marian cannot see. She closes her eyes...

 

-

 

Marian opened her eyes.

"Marian," she heard Sara, Sweet Sara, almost sigh her name in relief.

"Where... where am I?" Marian asked, her voice creaky with disuse.

"Do not get up!" Sara said sharply when Marian attempted to. Instead she gently sat her up and propped up pillows behind her.

Without Marian's asking, Sara held a cup for Marian to drink from.

"Thank you, Sara," Marian said, leaning back against the pillows, very tired after only a few sips.

"What do you remember?" Sara asked.

Marian's brow knit together in confusion. "The... wedding? I was in Sherwood, but I turned back. It- it started to rain. And then, such strange dreams. Of fire and water and ice..."  _and Robin_.

"My poor Marian," Sara consoled, taking the younger girl's hand. She pushed back her lank hair. "You took ill at lady Diot's. Your father, against the advice of lady Diot, brought you home to Knighton. Matilda has been here, and said you should not have been moved, and the only thing was to wait for your fever to break."

Marian must have been in trouble if Sara had called Matilda, the healer woman. Sara knew how to nurse people, but Matilda was good enough to be a physician.

"Where is my father?"

"Here, of course."

"May I speak to him?"

"I will go and fetch him, if that is what you wish."

"Thank you, Sara," Marian said, creeping lower into her bedclothes. It was not long to wait for her father.

"Marian, my child," he said, sweeping into the room and delivering a kiss to her forehead.

"Father," Marian smiled sleepily. "How long have I been... asleep?"

He sat down heavily on her bed and cupped her cheek. "Let us not think on that, dearest. Let us just rejoice that you are mending."

"How long, father? What have I missed?"

"A... a week," he said reluctantly.

A week. Meaning it was Sunday, meaning that there was a Council of Nobles meeting in three days. "Do you think I will be well enough?"

"Well enough for what?"

"For Wednesday," Marian prompted.

"Oh. Marian..."

 _He was going to tell her she could not go._ Marian was disappointed, though this conversation had already tired her. How she would get through a meeting was beyond her.

"I... I am no longer Sheriff, it would seem."

 _I must still be dreaming_ , she thought.

"Prince John is consolidating his power; he knew I was too loyal to the King. I have been replaced by a man called Vaisey."

Marian could see her father's lips moving, but his words hardly registered with her.

Sir Edward petted her hair and said, "I will come back when you are feeling better."

Her father left and Sara came back and prepared a bath for Marian. She allowed Sara to pamper her, hardly noticing anything around her. Instead her mind was whirling. Everything had been set a tilt when Robin had left. Now Aldith was married off and could hardly be an ally. Most of the girls she had grown up with married and moved away. Almost none wrote. And now, Father had been ousted from power. What manner of man was Vaisey? Surely not a good one, if he allied with a prince over a king. Greedy. Cruel? Marian must prepare herself for that possibility.

"There you are, my Lady," said Sara, tucking Marian into bed. What an odd phrase, "there you are." Of course she was there, physically at least.

Perhaps not mentally.

"Thank you, Sara," Marian said absently.

"I shall bring you some broth, my Lady."

Marian was not hungry. "Very well."

An enemy. She had never really had one before. And maybe Vaisey would not be an adversary?

Who was she kidding?

They were in trouble; her father, the nobles, all of Nottingham, embroiled in a near revolt.

Marian fell into uneasy dreams.


	4. What Came to Pass (Flashback)

_In your world I have no meaning_   
_Though I'm trying hard to understand_   
_And it's my heart that's breaking_   
_Down this long distance line tonight_

-

Robin and Marian were in Nottingham, planning their nuptials. Well,  _she_  was planning. He was employing everything in his power to  _distract_  her.

They were going over the menu with the head cook of Nottingham castle, a beefy man with an enviable mustache, but not a hair on the top of his head.

"I am employing someone else to make the desserts," Marian said briskly, knowing he would not take offense. He had known her since she was a little girl. She dismissed him; he had work to do and they had taken up enough of his time.

"Marian, can we not find something more...  _interesting_  to do?" He brushed a loosened tendril of hair behind her ear, cupping her cheek.

She batted his hand away.

"We have  _responsibilities_ ; I cannot plan this wedding alone," she reminded him.

"Plan what? Priest - the one in Locksley. Menu? You just finished planning. My father is providing minstrels. I assume you have a dress. Aldith is your witness, Much is mine. You have already agreed to marry me. What is left to plan?"

Marian thought, "Um, flowers..."

"Wildflowers picked the morning of by the village children."

"Oh, er... decorations?"

"Banners," he said simply. Robin kissed her, wasting no more time.

She allowed him to kiss her, enjoyed it even, but kept a wary eye out. They were alone, it was true, but in the Great Hall, and if there was anything true of the Great Hall, it was that it was a high traffic area...

Just as she was about to give herself over to his lips, she heard a door burst open.

She and Robin leaped apart, trying to hide guilty expressions.

"My Lord Sheriff," greeted Robin.

"Father?" Marian questioned.

"I have just sent the messengers. There is to be an emergency Council of Nobles meeting," Sir Edward said distractedly, not really registering who was in the Hall.

Robin had begun arranging the chairs in the Hall in their customary circle.

"Father? What is going on?"

"Oh, thank you, Robin, but I'm sure a page can do that," Sir Edward commented.

"It is no trouble, my Lord." Robin continued.

"Father! What is this?"

Sir Edward turned, as if noticing his daughter for the first time.

"King Henry. He is... he is dead. Richard is to ascend," Sir Edward said sadly. "Long live the King," he added as an afterthought.

Marian sat heavily in a chair that Robin had placed. "Oh," was all that she could manage.

Henry II's reign was far from ideal, but he had been King all her life.

Now there was a new King. How strange.

Robin knelt next to her and took her hand. "Marian, if this is true, I must go to London. Richard will want all his knights to stand in brotherhood."

Marian turned to look into his eyes.

"I promise to be home before the wedding," he smiled at her, but she could see sadness in his eyes.

"I hold you to your word," she told him.

He kissed her cheek.

"I must go find Much and ask him to get us ready for travel. I will be back when my father arrives to attend the Council, but then I must depart for London," he promised Sir Edward.

"Go, young Robin."

Marian said nothing, but her eyes followed Robin out of the Hall. He was as true as his word. The moment the solemn council was over, he kissed Marian tenderly and left for London. She barely had time to slip him one of her riding gloves as a token to carry with him.

And so he was off to London, for an elaborate coronation, and she was left to finish planning their wedding, which Marian could not help but feel would be anticlimactic after the pageantry of the Plantagenets. But there was nothing for it.

A few days later, Marian and Sara were lining her hope chest with lavender and packing her linens when a messenger arrived from Locksley Hall in the form of the Earl's page, Addy.

"What is it?" Marian asked, knowing that Robin had not yet returned.

"It is the Earl, my Lady," Addy said solemnly. "He has taken ill."

"Has Matilda been sent for?"

"Yes, my Lady. He just thought you should know."

"Has a message been sent to Sir Robin?"

"Nay, my Lady. The Earl did not wish to alarm him."

So he thought to alarm her, instead? She was not  _yet_  his daughter-in-law. "Thank you for this news," she said tossing him a coin.

He sketched a bow and went back to his horse.

Marian closed the door behind him and flew up the stairs, immediately to her desk. Sara gave her an odd look, but asked nothing. Robin must know, she thought. The Earl was old, and Robin should leave immediately.

_Dear Robin,_

_I send you my love and my loyalty, but I also am obliged to send grave news. Your father's page, Addy was just here. Your father has taken ill. I do not yet know how ill, but bad enough that I was informed. Your father wishes not to trouble you, as is his way._

_Come home._

_Lovingly,_   
_Marian_

She folded the missive and sealed it, stamping her signet ring in the soft wax.

"Sara!"

"I am right here, Lady Marian, there is no need to shout," Sara replied, setting down the pillowcases she was folding.

"My apologies-"

"What has happened?"

"Earl Geoffrey has taken ill," said Marian simply. "Matilda is with him. I am going to Nottingham to be with my father, and to post this letter to London." Nottingham was closer to Locksley than Knighton was, and Sara knew this full well.

"Shall I prepare your things?"

"I have things enough in my chambers in Nottingham."

"Very good, my Lady."

"Farewell, Sara."

Without another word, and with only a nod at John, Marian was off.

Despite the letter, it was still several days before Robin arrived home, his horse foaming at the mouth, Marian heard. She waited patiently at Nottingham, not wanting to be underfoot at Locksley Hall. Robin would come for her when he could.

Two days later, rather two  _nights_ , he burst into Nottingham Castle, calling for her. One of the serving girls rushed up to Marian's chambers to fetch her. It had been pouring down rain all evening, and he was soaked to the bone; his teeth were chattering loudly. It did not stop her from springing into his arms.

"He lives," Robin murmured.

"Praise God," she whispered back. As much as she wanted to be his bride, she did not want to follow his father's corpse into his house. And they were both still so young. Too young be the Earl and Countess of Huntingdon.

She could feel him shivering.

Marian let go. "Come upstairs and dry yourself properly. I will wait in my father's study for you. You have much to tell me, but we cannot have  _you_ getting sick now."

"Yes," he agreed (meekly, Marian thought. The Earl's illness must have really scared him).

He did not take long in the chambers he and his father often used. Marian called for some wine to be warmed and brought to them, and any leftovers from supper. She stoked the fire herself, waiting for her own damp gown to dry.

Robin came in, looking much more comfortable (and much  _dryer_ ). She settled down next to him.

"What of your father?"

"He lives. The fever is broken. There is some color in his cheeks. I asked him if we should postpone the wedding, but he is determined for us to carry it out."

"Ten days," Marian squeezed his arm. "He might be much stronger by then."

"That is my hope. There is something else I must tell you."

"Of the Coronation?" she smiled, eager to hear of London.

"No," Robin said gently. "After I received your letter, I approached his Grace, King Richard and bid him farewell. Before I left, he told me that he was going on a Crusade, and that should I decide to come with, he would happily make me Captain of the King's Guard."

"Robin, you cannot seriously consider..."

He shrugged.

Marian tried a different track, "Much would hate it."

"I would not make him come."

"He would die before he let you go off alone," Marian pointed out.

"I can learn to be a true leader," he argued.

"Your father can teach you that!"

"You are right, of course," Robin sighed.

Marian breathed a sigh of relief.

"I thought you might say that you needed me," he said.

Quietly, Marian responded, "You know that is not true, that I could get along with out you, or any man. But hear this, Robin. It may not be proper for a woman to say, but, I  _want_  you. And I can give no higher praise than that." She felt herself flush.

They did not linger much longer. He spent the night in Nottingham, then left for Locksley again.

A few days later, the Earl died suddenly.

Marian was still in Nottingham when Much came with the news. He burst into the castle screaming, "Lady Marian!"

Marian had not known what had happened, but she could tell by the look in Much's eyes that Robin needed her. She did not waste time packing anything. She threw herself onto Kay, her own true horse, and rode bareback all the way to Locksley, Much following behind.

She left Kay in the yard and burst without decorum into Robin's Hall.

 _It truly was his Hall, now,_  she could not keep herself from thinking.

Robin looked miserable. The staff was also near tears as the scurried back and forth, up the stairs and down again, preparing the body.

No words were spoken between Robin and Marian. She sat down beside him and he crushed her to him. She could feel him trembling with grief. Marian knew no words could help him. Instead she listened as he cried and tried to string words together. She did not try and  _shush_  him, just stroked his back soothingly, like she would a hurt child. She cried with him.

Finally, he broke away, and said "What am I to do?"

Marian's heart broke for him.

"Breathe," she said. "Just try and breathe, in through your nose, out through your mouth. I will make the funeral arrangements, and I will postpone our wedding. Do not worry, my Robin. My father will help. For now, just breathe."

He wiped at his tears; he looked like such a little boy with that action. Marian's heart clenched, and she began crying anew. She had loved the Earl, too. And she had so wanted to be Robin's wife, as soon as possible. And now, she had to wait even longer. But it could not be helped.

Marian sat with him the whole night.

The next day, she was busy doing as she had promised. All of the preparations that were to be for the wedding instead went to Locksley for the funeral. The wedding was postponed another two months, for the autumn, and would be a quieter affair.

All was carried out, and Robin could only look at her with sad eyes, but he was terribly grateful. She knew. She always knew.

Or she thought she did.

After the funeral, he surprised her. It was not a good surprise.

He pulled her out of the Hall to the stables, away from the funeral party inside.

"I am leaving," he said.

"So soon?" Marian asked. "Where are you going this time?"

He bit his lip nervously and stroked the tendrils of her hair that had come loose from her elaborate hairstyle.

"The... Crusade," he said with difficulty.

Marian felt the breath catch in her throat. She took a step back, and her hair slid out of his hands.

"Much," she stuttered.

"He is coming with. I told him to stay, but he said no."

She was grasping at straws when she said, "Your manor, your  _responsibilities_!"

"They will keep. I trust Thornton."

 _Me_ , she wanted to say.  _I was wrong. I_ do _need you._ But she choked on her own thoughts. She could not form the words.

"I hope... I hope you will wait for me," he said cautiously.

She reached out and slapped him.

He looked at her in shock and saw her clearly, for the first time in a week. "What was that for?"

"You utter  _fool_ ," she told him. "I have done every thing that was needed around here, for  _you_  and now you leave for some ill-advised trip to your death? No, I shall not wait for you. I will not be promised to a corpse. For surely, if you go to that hot, dry place, you will die, Robin. If not your body, your soul. But if you see fit, go. Go, kill in God's name. Slaughter for His Son. But I shall not wait for you."

She turned on her heel and marched into the Hall to her father. No one would suspect her tears now were for Robin, not Earl Geoffrey. For her, it was suddenly a double funeral.

They never even said goodbye.


	5. Recovered and Reticent

_I ain't missing you at all_   
_Since you've been gone, away_   
_I ain't missing you_   
_No matter, what my friends say_

-

Marian spent most of her time in bed for now. Recovering. Resting. Going out of her mind with boredom. Sara fussed and fretted over her, which was nice, until it was irritating. Marian was not one who enjoyed being mollycoddled.

In all the time she was ill, all the time she was convalescing, she had only one letter from Aldith. It was quite formal, and not a word was scandalous. No clues as to how the wedding night was, or how things progressed. Marian was a bit hurt. Marian wrote back saying that the wedding had been wonderful, but she had been quite sick. Not an intimate word between the two of them.

One morning, it was not Sara who had brought Marian her medicines, but Matilda.

"What brings you here?" Marian asked. She had not relapsed, Marian hoped.  _Please let there be no more fever dreams of Robin_.

"Sara asked me to, though you do not need much more nursing, Lady Marian. At least not physically, though your heart still seems broken," Matilda said knowingly. The healer had delivered both her and Robin into this world; knew them inside and out.

"Where is Sara?" Marian demanded, overlooking those last few words out of Matilda's mouth.  _Hide it better_ , Aldith said in her mind.

"Her daughter is ill - she has taken a turn for the worse," Matilda said, sitting on the bed.

"What is wrong?"

"Lady Marian, I know your heart is in the right place, but know that Sara and I are doing the best we can."

"But Sara has been so good to me, there must be something I can do!" Marian insisted.

"Trust me. There is nothing you can do to help Maudlin. Poor thing."

Marian frowned, and continued to frown over Matilda's nursing.

Not long after nightfall, after her father's snores rumbled down the corridor to her room, Marian came to a decision.

Matilda said that Marian was well. Heartbroken, but well. Robin had gone off to war, and now, she could do the same. Doing battle against sickness. She had defeated her own, after all. She could be a healer like Matilda.

Marian got up and pulled on her trousers and a tunic, belting it, and pulled on a heavy cloak.

Then she had to sit down for a minute, to catch her breath.

Not  _quite_  recovered, then. After a few minutes her head stopped swimming. Marian collected her medicinals and stole downstairs (not trusting herself  _not_ to fall off the roof), and to the outer buildings.

Arriving at the one she knew to be Sara's, Marian knocked tentatively, suddenly reluctant to intrude on Sara's privacy.

Without even giving Marian time to think, Sara swung the door open.

"Lady Marian!" she said with surprise, curtsying quickly.

Marian offered her a skin bag. "Matilda came to see me, she said your little girl was sick, and that I was well. I was wondering if you might need this?"

"You foolish girl," Sweet Sara said kindly, inviting her inside. "You are paler than the moon. Come in and rest yourself."

"Thank you," said Marian, stepping inside.

Sara settled her down next to the meager fire before looking around. It was a tiny house, only one roof, and no loft. There was one other stool next to the fire, and Marian spied a trunk and a small bed pushed against the wall.

In the bed, bundled up, was a someone, of whom Marian could only see a sallow face and lank yellow hair.

"Hello," Marian whispered to the person who must me Maudlin, Sara's sick daughter.

"Who are you?" the child inquired.

"This is the Lady Marian," Sara introduced. She helped Maudlin sit up so she could visit properly.

"Hello," greeted the girl.

"Matilda told me you were ill," Marian said softly. So I thought I would pay you a visit, to cheer you up?"

"Will you tell me a story?" the Maudlin asked.

"What about?" Marian replied.

"Oh, anything," Maudlin answered.

"She will pester all day for a story she has not heard," Sara said, fetching up some darning to occupy her hands.

"Do you know any about King Arthur's most loyal foster-brother, Kay?"

Maudlin shook her head.

"Kay is my favorite of all the knights of the Round Table," Marian confessed. It was this Kay that she had named her horse after. "When King Arthur was just a boy, he was the squire to a knight called Kay..." Marian spun some new yarns for the girl, using her voice in a way that she had never done before. As she told the tale, she could not fail to take in the level of poverty the cook and her daughter lived in. While they certainly had necessities, they did not have the  _niceties_ that Marian was accustomed to. Employees of her father's, who had championed the rights of those less fortunate than himself. Even Robin had so many ideas to help the poor and went the extra mile for any man, woman, or child, arguing for their welfare despite their birth. It seemed so strange that Marian should have so much, when they had so little. Marian had done nothing to deserve more than Maudlin, bundled in raggedy blankets.

At the end of the tale, Marian had decided not to go to war against illness.

She decided to go to war against poverty.

She was not immediately decided on her course of action. But she knew that she was getting nowhere in the Counsel of Nobles.

Marian braved the smell to visit the tanneries in the caves under Nottingham castle to commission a mask. She collected every piece of black clothing she owned and cobbled it together to make an outfit. And as she visited further and further away from Knighton Hall, she looked for a horse to ride. Kay was too recognizable. Marian eventually realized her best course of action was to switch horses all the time.

She did not take weapons at first, but she ran into the Sheriff's guards with greater and greater frequencies, so could not afford to take chances.

She reveled in every moment of her her work.

For the first time in ages, she was free. She was not even Marian under the mask. She was some force for good, some embodiment of the freedom she wished the Shire still possessed. She did not name herself, but compared herself to the Nightjars - nearly silent, nocturnal birds that were brown, gray, and black. They were summer visitors who nested in the ground, then cartwheeled through the sky at night. (She certainly was not a show off, like those robin red-breasts.)

Around the same time that the fledgling Nightjar began to fly, the Sheriff conjured an ally.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne, some unknown knight arrived at Locksley Hall to keep the lands of the Earldom in Robin's stead. The Sheriff argued that the steward, Thornton, could hardly do a competent job, as he was simply a peasant.

Marian saw it as it was - a power play. The Lands and Estate of the Huntingdon's were some of the richest, if not,  _the_ richest in Nottinghamshire. And now the man that everyone saw through as the Sheriff's lackey was in clear control. And he made his presence known.

Marian's gut burned. If Robin had not left, they would be married and this would not be a problem. Even if her father had been ousted as Sheriff, she and Robin could have easily, and legitimately, held Locksley Hall.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne (where was Gisbourne? Somewhere in France? Was he a second or third son, whom must seek employment elsewhere, away from an older brother's estate?) was cold and unapproachable, and never argued with the Sheriff. He did as the Sheriff bid, when he bid.

He had a possessive streak, stalking around Nottinghamshire as if he owned the whole place.

He seemed a weak man, and all the more dangerous for it. To say he worried Marian would be an understatement.

 

-

 

"That dress is... very becoming." Gisbourne always addressed her in a strange tone, somewhere between possessive and aloof.

She wanted to tell him that she does not usually wear dresses, that most of the time she wears trousers. Even at night. Especially at night. She wondered what Robin of Locksley would say to that.

_Careful..._

"Thank you, Sir Guy."

"Only, the color... Lady Marian, are you unwell?"

"No, Sir Guy, only tired."  _Being out until all hours will do that._

"You do not need to come to the Council of Nobles meetings, you know. If they tire you so."

"Oh, but I must!" she insisted, flushing.  _How to explain?_ "In these trying times, we must protect the people who work for us."

"I do not understand your passion, Lady Marian, and I believe it is misguided," Sir Guy told her in his best superior manner. He had to have been practicing.

"What are you talking about?"

"The poor - why should you care so much? You are not poor. I cannot see how it affects you."

 _Yes,_ she thought,  _Father does not pay extra taxes to spare our villagers. You are right, I have no heart and I do not pay attention to the suffering of other people_. Marian shrugged his comment off, choosing silence over responding. She never would have let Robin get away with words like that, but then, Robin would never take such advantage of anyone, taxes or no. He was too chivalrous, and took protecting weaker people much more seriously than Sir Guy did.

"Perhaps all you need is a husband and children to look after," Guy argued.

Marian said blankly, "Yes, because that is all every woman needs to be satisfied."

He grinned at her.

Marian's eyes widened. Sir Guy of Gisbourne did not understand her at all.


	6. Messages of Desperation

_And there's a message that I'm sending out_   
_Like a telegraph to your soul_   
_And if I can't bridge this distance_   
_Stop this heartbreak overload_

_I ain't missing you at all_   
_Since you've been gone, away_   
_I ain't missing you_   
_No matter, what my friends say_   
_I ain't missing you, I ain't missing you_   
_I can lie to myself_

 

-

 

_"Again," Robin commanded, out of breath._

_She panted. It was always like this. He came home, full of energy and fire and brought her to life. She was always sore in new places, stretched to breaking points, bruised from the inside out, dirty, sweaty, hair full of grass or hay, but felt all the better for it it._

_She lifted her sword, ready to defend herself against his onslaught. Her father had taught her the basics, but he was honing her skills, teaching her to go from defense to attacks. He taught her with every weapon he could think of. With no weapon. When one had no weapon and needed to defend against a knife, sword, or mace. He helped her refine her archery, but she was already quite proficient with that._

_The swords clanged together as they fought. Though the blades were dull, they were still dangerous. Marian craved this. She felt so close to him when they fought. She learned well, and always found a way to surprise him._

_She overbalanced him and he toppled to the floor._

_"Good," he said, leaping up._

_"Again!" she cried._

_Sparring was more fun than kissing, some days._

-

 _Being the Nightjar is much more dangerous these days_ , Marian thought, looking around the glade. She had just had to take out five of the Sheriff's best guards who had surprised her on her way home from Clun.

She panted and thanked God that Robin was such a demanding teacher. And that she was more agile then the lumbering guards in their full armor. Nameless, faceless guards. She did not think of them as men with families or lives, she could not afford to. Because if she thought of that, she would feel the guilt. And Marian could hardly take her activities, her war, to confession.

There had been more patrols to dodge lately, and she had let her guard down. She swallowed, and went on light feet back to Knighton Hall.

-

"Lady Marian," Guy greeted her before the morning's Counsel of Nobles.

She turned to face him. "Good morning, Sir Guy," she said, her teeth already on edge.

"You look exhausted."

"I did not sleep last night," she responded, dismissively.

"Are you a-feared of anything? The Nightwatchman?"

"And what, pray tell, is the Nightwatchman?" Marian huffed.

"You do not know? It is a man, all in black, who sneaks out at night, defying the Sheriff."

"How does he defy the Sheriff?" Cold dread settled in her stomach.

"Well, the poor think he brings them food, though I have never met anyone who actually benefited from it," Guy said.

 _Because you do not talk to the poor,_ thought Marian.

"But he brings blackness, dissent, and death and fear. The Sheriff must work twice as hard to restore his good name to the populace. Just the other day, the Nightwatchman took out five of the best guards in Nottingham."

Marian must have looked surprised.

"Yes, I know. But do not fear, Lady Marian, I will not let him harm you."

"Thank you, Sir Guy," she managed. But all she can think was how she needed to be more careful.  _Nightwatchman? It is as good a name as any. No better or worse than Nightjar. Similar, anyway._ Marian knew in that moment that she had been correct in her impulse to hide her identity. What she was doing was not illegal, (apart from the slaying of the guards) but certainly, Vaisey and Gisbourne were not going to let her undermine their plotting.

Suddenly her secret identity felt like another chain, keeping her from her true self. Marian longed to fight for what she believed in without fear or shame. Like the Knights of Old. Poverty was her dragon. And let all who come between her and her goals perish by her sword.

She turned to face the Sheriff; Sir Guy stalked to his side, and the meeting began.

-

_She had known, of course, when he had finally become a knight. Such things were often written of, and he had done so himself, to his father, the Earl Geoffrey. And announced he would visit home before going to France to train with Prince Richard. Marian was not completely unprepared when he showed up at her window well after midnight and dragged her off into Sherwood Forest. Much was not there, but she knew well enough (after so many similar adventures) that she was safe in Robin's company (though for simplicity's sake, they shared the same horse. She wrapped her arms around his middle and held him tightly. It had been so long since she had seen him)._

_"How was it?" she asked. "What happened? What ceremonies did you observe? Tell me all, tell me everything. I have never been to London - leave nothing out!" she demanded._

_"Hush, my lady, it is not seemly to talk of such things," he said in his half-teasing courtly voice._

_"Surely some things are seemly to speak on," she countered._

_"Very well, but first, I have a mission to accomplish," he said enigmatically._

_"A mission?"_

_"A promise."_

_She smiled at his cloak and buried her nose in the hood._

_The promise was to declare his loyalty to her. At best, it was a shabby, improvised ceremony. She stood next to the tallest tree in Sherwood. He knelt, and gave her a handkerchief (an innocent looking scrap of lace, it reminded her of when they were children, when he had once before sworn loyalty to each other, though neither were knights, and he, barely a page. He had slipped her a hankie then)._

_"Lady Marian Fitzwalter, as is befitting to a Lady of your rank and privilege, I hereto swear my loyalty to you, upon pain of death. I promise to serve you faithfully, putting before you only God and the King himself. Should you ever have need of me, I will be by your side instantly. All you must do is ask."_

_She tried not to giggle. "I bid you stand, Sir Robin of Locksley. I accept your loyalty, and your token."_

A month later, he proposed. That was part of the game, too. His waywardness was not part of the game, however. Perhaps that was why it was so difficult to forgive him him. Even now, when she had need of him.

Marian shook the memory from her mind, sat down, and began writing a letter to her "loyal" knight. She still hated him, but she needed him, as an ally. She had no allies here.

All her old friends had been married off, to other neighborhoods far from reach and of no immediate use to her.

Marian's own father could not be depended on as an ally; he had hardly put up a fight. Perhaps it was understandable. He had been sheriff since before she was born. Sir Edward was old, tired.

Marian was young, and ready to do battle. But she recognized she might need to raise an army.

Lifting her quill, she began,

_Dear Robin,_

No, scratch that,

 _Robin,_ nothing "dear" about that.

Or maybe formal was the way to go,

_To the attention of Sir Robert of Locksley, Earl of Huntington, Captain of the King's Guard in the Holy Land,_

But formality was a game they played when they were children. She blotted out the careful letters.

_Dear Much,_

Who did not read, Marian knew. Dammit. Marian could not write this. She was still angry with him. But would it be easier if she was still in love with him? (Which she was  _not_ , she told herself. She was not in love with anyone, and she never would be again.) She looked down at the mess she had made of the parchment. Frustrated, she balled it up and threw it in the fire.

_Robin,_

_I know you are likely_ busy _with more important pursuits than silly little me. God help you if you are enjoying your work. But you are needed at home._

 _No, do not get any ideas, foolish boy._ I _do_ not _need you._

 _But Nottingham_ does _._

_My father has been ousted as Sheriff. Prince John has replaced him with an evil man, known as Vaisey. He has raised taxes to "pay for the Crusade," and often ruthlessly punishes those who cannot pay. I am not convinced that our King sees any of this money. But people here are suffering. A man who tried to steal an apple for his painfully hungry daughter had his thumbs cut off._

_It gets worse for you. Vaisey has a lackey, known as Guy of Gisbourne (or Guy of Gross-bourne, in certain circles). Vaisey has granted Locksley to him for "safe-keeping." I worry for your people, Thornton especially, and his young daughter Bridget even more. You should too, or the Robin I knew growing up would have._

_You have twice sworn loyalty to me. I cannot fight alone. Come home._

_Marian._

She thought of Locksley, changed so much by Robin's absence. She had only visited the house once since he left. It seemed that before Marian visited, Gisbourne had heard she was engaged to its former master; he made all sorts of insinuations at how well she might know the house.

Marian had remained silent on the matter.

But at Council of Noble meetings, he always tried to have a conversation with her, however brief, even once going so far as to declaring she needed a husband to take care of her.

A  _master_ was the last thing she needed.

A partner, however, was much more desirable. And Sir Guy of Gross-bourne did not have it in him to champion those less fortunate than him.

-

It was unusual for Guy of Gross-bourne not to be at a Counsel of Nobles meeting. Marian did not want to comment on it, thanking her lucky stars that he was not there, and she did not want to seem overly anxious for his return.

Vaisey, however, took it upon himself to announce where Guy was.

"Sir Guy is ill, and according to his physician, Pitts, he may not be recovering for quite some time."

Marian wondered if the Sheriff had grown tired of Sir Guy sniffing around him, and had the man poisoned. But she did not have much time to dwell on it.

That winter was a hard one. Especially so, given that Sir Edward could no longer afford to keep his bare-bones staff. John left first, than Sara, carefully carting off her sick daughter to greener pastures. Marian could not blame them. But now she had more than enough work to keep her busy. She was the Lady and the maid and the cook by day, the Nightwatchman by night.

Balancing was difficult, that she did not have time to dwell on Aldith (who never wrote), on Robin, or on Sir Guy and his illness (which was going quite long) or anything else.

Suddenly, without any fanfare and nearly a year after he had taken ill, Sir Guy reappeared at a Counsel of Noble's meeting, hardly looking worse for wear.

"Did you miss me, Lady Marian?" he asked, sidling up to her after the meeting.

Had she known him long enough to miss him when he went? "I noticed your absence, Sir Guy, but in truth, I was very busy... You look, almost,  _tan_ ," she noticed suddenly. He did not look as if he had been ill; he was thinner, yes, but not emaciated, as someone who had been sick for a year might be.

Guy flushed suddenly, then stumbled out a reply, "Oh, uh the physician, Pitts, said... jaundice."

Odd. Jaundice was more yellow - she had seen it in babies. Marian let it go. "I am glad you are recovering, Sir Guy."


	7. Epilogue

_And there's a storm that's raging_   
_Through my frozen heart tonight_   
_I ain't missing you at all_   
_Since you've been gone, away_   
_I ain't missing you,_   
_No matter, what my friends say_   
_Ain't missing you_   
_I ain't missing you, I ain't missing you_   
_I can lie to myself_   
_I ain't missing you._

-

She had sometimes imagined his return, but it was never like this.

Marian heard the horses before seeing them. She crept to her window, praying fervently that it was not Sir Guy of Gross- _Gisbourne_.

But Robin cut an unmistakable figure in the saddle, right past the 'inconspicuous' men who spied on them, and would report every word to the Sheriff.

Marian whirled away from the window and pressed her back to the wall, staying hidden. Knowing that was useless, she grabbed her bow and rushed on silent feet (the Nightwatchman's feet) down to the hall.

"Father?"

The lines on his face, which normally she could read like a map, were inscrutable. Marian knew the feeling. Robin's return would mean an upset of the delicate balance of power in Nottingham. He would get his lands restored to him, pushing Sir Guy out, and this would cause the Sheriff to lose control of the vast Huntingdon estate. This could be good, if the Sheriff lost more power, but Marian also knew that Vaisey would lash out in other, unpredictable ways.

Marian wondered if he had gotten her letter, if he was aware of the situation they were embroiled in.

Sir Edward burst out of the manor, yelling at the boys who had left, at the men who had returned. "Get out! Get away from here!" Marian wondered if they knew he was warning them.

"Sir Edward, it is me! Your friend, Robin of Locksley!" he shouted. Marian could hear confusion in his voice.

"I know how you are. Crooks! Come to deceive me! I'll have none of you here!" her father stalled.

"I swear, I come in friendship!" Robin vowed.

"I am no longer the Sheriff. Leave me to live out my days in peace!" Sir Edward tried. He was getting nowhere.

"You heard my father, leave," Marian said as she drew her bow, and her wayward lover's gaze.

"Marian, it is me. Robin," he looked surprised at her being there.

"Congratulations. Leave," she repeated, stepping out of the door and into the yard.

"How are you? I thought of you."

He was not getting the picture. They were  _watched,_  how could he be so  _dense_. "Leave!" she shouted.

"We are leaving," Much promised, diffusing the situation. Marian and her father backed into the house.

"Sir Edward, if you do not remember me, remember Nottingham! Remember your people!"

Sir Edward slammed the door on his words, as if he could somehow block them out. Block out Robin's accusation and confusion.

As she unstrung her bow, Marian wondered vaguely if he would visit her at her window tonight, as he used to do when they were children. She shook her head, reminding herself that they were adults now. She would have to try and guess his intentions at the Council of Nobles later today. Her heart pounded a little faster. The balance was shifting, and Nottingham, for better or for worse, would never be the same.

**Author's Note:**

> Reposted from fanfiction.net, and edited slightly to match up with my own continuity.
> 
> Additionally, in creating the timeline for plotting purposes, I realized that King Richard was crowned King of England in 1189, then he left on his crusade (which ended in 1192, the year Robin returns home). So Robin could not have been gone for five years. *sigh* SO. In light of this, I have decided to make Robin gone for only three years, which is historically accurate, but the story ends when Robin comes home, and canon takes over. This isn't the first time you've ignored a plot hole for the sake of this show, and sadly, it won't be the last.
> 
> There's a playlist for this story, in case you are intersted: http://8tracks.com/glorious-clio/the-wayward-one


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